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stems of the water-palm which was growing at hand in great
profusion, and answered the purpose excellently. It was, however,
partly destroyed by fire, and required great care in crossing. We
could not trust the animals on it, so we had to fall back on our rope,
and haul them across a little higher up the river, where the water was
deeper and the current consequently less violent.
Just below the bridge were a series of magnificent cascades,
which filled the air for a long distance round with their stupendous
roar. As we intended making another march that day, we went on
again after a short halt. The men had had no food for three days,
except the remains of the insignificant quantity of meat I shot a few
days before. We were therefore anxious to reach the cultivated
country in order to buy fresh supplies for them.
After a weary walk from eleven in the morning to four in the
afternoon, we were relieved to find ourselves among the shambas of
the natives. We camped beside a small stream close to a village,
and immediately opened a market, and when the natives appeared
we bought a small supply of maize and sweet potatoes, which were
at once served out to our hungry men.
 CHAPTER III.
FROM THE TANA TO M’BU.

We reach and cross the Tana—Maranga—The abundance of food

thereof—We open a market—We treat the Maranga elders to
cigars, with disastrous results—Bad character of the Wa’M’bu—
We resume our journey—A misunderstanding with the A’kikuyu—
We reach M’bu.
Early the following morning we struck camp and travelled due north,
following native paths. Ascending a low hill, we were unexpectedly
greeted by the paramount chief of the district, who rejoiced in the
name of Kinuthia, and several of his elders. He presented us, by way
of an introduction, with a gourd containing about half a gallon of
fresh milk, which we much appreciated, signifying the same in the
usual manner. When we regained our breath once more, Kinuthia
handed us a note given him by Mr. Hall, a Government officer, who
had been up there a month before in order to select a site for the
new Government station for the Kenia district; which stated that
Kinuthia was a friendly chief, and desired to be recognized as such.
We immediately recognized him as such by enlisting him as our
guide to the Sagana, which we expected to be able to cross that day.
After a short conversation he took the lead, and on we marched
again. He led us across some very rough country for an hour and a
half, when we reached a small, swift river, an affluent of the Sagana.
We crossed without much trouble by the timely aid of the ragged-
looking A’kikuyu noblemen in attendance on their chief. Another two-
hour tramp followed, when we at last reached the Sagana, which is
really a noble river, abounding in hippo here, as indeed it does
everywhere. We saw no crocodiles, though we inquired most
anxiously after them.
Kinuthia informed us that the Somalis’ safari had crossed three
weeks or a month before. One of Jamah Mahomet’s cows, while
fording the river, had been seized by a crocodile and the poor
beast’s shoulder torn right out. We did not feel more comfortable on
receipt of this intelligence, but we were assured by the natives that
they had since poisoned all the crocodiles for a distance of half a
mile or so each side of the ford, though they thought it likely that a
stray reptile or two might have escaped the general poisoning. We
had no choice, however; so we stripped and waded, chin-deep, to
the opposite side, about eighty yards distant.
The current was immensely powerful, and the bottom very pebbly
and slippery; but we were assisted by some of Kinuthia’s aristocracy,
and made the passage in safety. Our men were tired and rather
nervous of the current, so for three “makono” (about 1½ yards) of
cloth each, we induced fifteen of the aforesaid A’kikuyu noblemen to
carry their loads across for them—a task they successfully
accomplished, Kinuthia himself not disdaining to discard his royal
robes (a goatskin) and earn his piece of cloth.
We breakfasted on the bank, and then made another move, as
Kinuthia impressed upon us the fact that an hour’s journey further on
was situate the village of Manga, the chief of the Maranga, whose
people had an abundance of food for sale, and where we should be
able to buy all the supplies we needed without any trouble. He said
he would accompany us and introduce us, which we thought was
very good of him.
Our way lay through dense plantations, which fully bore out friend
Kinuthia’s assertions as to the richness of the district in food-stuffs.
In an hour we reached a gently sloping hill, covered with short green
grass, on which we pitched our camp. We sent for the chief, who
shortly afterwards made his appearance. He seemed a very decent
old fellow, and anxious to assist us. We stated our requirements, and
he immediately commanded his people to bring us food for sale, and
did everything in his power—short of giving anything away himself—
to show us that he was friendly and well-disposed towards us.
His son, Koranja, a rather good-looking young fellow for a native,
had been down to Mombasa with a safari, and spoke Kiswahili fairly
well. He seemed very intelligent. Some of the old men of the tribe
also spoke Kiswahili, which, we presumed, they had picked up from
passing Arab or Swahili safaris. Kinuthia bade us adieu and returned
to his own village the other side of the Sagana, having received from
us a suitable present of beads, etc., to gladden his heart, or rather
the hearts of his wives.
Large quantities of food then began to arrive, and we decided to
stop where we were for a day or two, and buy at least ten days’
rations for the men, before resuming our journey northwards. We
retired that night a great deal easier in our minds about the
commissariat than we had been for some days.
Next morning the camp was fairly buzzing with natives of all ages
and both sexes. Most of them had brought food to sell, but many of
them came merely to look at us. Not that we were much to look at; in
any civilized community we should have run a great risk of being
arrested as vagrants and suspicious characters. El Hakim and
George both wore embryo beards, and our appearance generally
was rather that of tramps than otherwise. El Hakim had a great
affection for a pair of moleskin trousers and a leather jacket, both of
which had seen much service. His hat, too, had known better days;
but it was an idiosyncrasy of his to wear his clothes on safari work till
they were absolutely beyond further mending and patching. On one
occasion he was reported to have tramped about the Lykipia plateau
for months, clad only in a coloured cloth and a pair of brown boots,
with a towel twisted round his head turban-wise, he having lost his
only hat. I can vouch for the comfort of such a dress in a good
climate such as obtains on the Waso Nyiro, as I tried the experiment
myself.
THE CAMP AT MARANGA.
 BUYING FOOD AT MARANGA. (See page 54.)

As soon as we had breakfasted, we went about the important

business of marketing. Maranga, as is Kikuyu generally, is
extraordinarily rich and fertile. All kinds of grain are exceedingly
plentiful. Among those brought to us for sale were millet (Panicum
Italicum), called by the natives “metama;” Pennisetum spicatum,
known as “mwele,” a seed resembling linseed, which grows on a
close spike like a bulrush flower; Eleusine corocana, known as
“uimbe;” and “muhindi,” or “dhurra” (maize). A large variety of edible
roots is also cultivated, the most common being “viazi” (sweet
potatoes), “vikwer” (yams), and “mahogo” (manioc). Sugar-cane was
very largely grown, and is known to the natives as “mewa.” The
stalks of metama, which are called “kota,” are also chewed by the
natives on account of the sweetish sap. The half-grown stalks of the
same plant are known as “metama m’tindi.” “N’dizi” (bananas) are
also extensively cultivated, but we never ate any, as they are never
allowed to ripen. The natives pluck them while they are green and
hard, and roast them in hot ashes. When cooked they have the
appearance and taste of a floury potato, though with a slightly
astringent flavour. Wild honey was procurable in moderate
quantities. It is called “assala,” evidently derived from the Arabic
word for the same substance, “assal.” The Masai name for honey is
“naischu,” the word generally used in Kikuyu. At certain seasons of
the year the staple diet of the natives is “kundu” (beans), of which we
saw two varieties, viz. “maragua,” a small white bean like a haricot,
and “baazi,” a black bean which grows in pods on a small tree like a
laburnum. They also grow several kinds of gourds, named
respectively “mumunye,” which resembles a vegetable marrow in
size and appearance, “kitoma,” a small, round kind, and “tikiti,” a
small water-melon. It will be observed that we did not lack variety.
We bought large quantities of m’wele, which our Swahilis at first
refused to eat: they said it was “chickens’ food.” They knew better
afterwards. We also procured some “mazewa” (fresh milk) for
ourselves. Food was comparatively cheap. A “makono” of cloth or a
handful of beads bought several “kibabas” of grain or beans. A
kibaba equals about a pint. The term “makono” (meaning, literally, a
hand) is applied to the measure of the forearm from the tip of the
elbow to the end of the second finger, generally about eighteen
inches. Four makono equal one “doti” (about two yards), and twenty-
five yards or so make a “jora” or “piece” of cloth.
The beads most in demand were the small red Masai beads
known as “sem-sem.” We did not part with any wire, as we wanted it
for the districts farther north.
George and I went out in the forenoon to try and shoot hippo in the
Sagana, which was only an hour’s walk from the camp. On reaching
a likely pool, I sat down on the bank to watch. George had turned
very sick again on the way, and laid down under a shady tree. I shot
two hippo in the water, but they sank, and though I sent men down
the river to watch the shallows, I never saw any more of them.
There were a lot of guinea-fowl about, so I sent back to camp for
my shot-gun. George was feeling so queer that he went back also.
When my gun arrived, I had a good time among the guinea-fowl,
securing eight in an hour or so. I also got a partridge, which turned
up in a—for it—inopportune moment.
When I got back to camp, I found that El Hakim had been highly
successful in his marketing, and had obtained a large quantity of
food, mostly mwele, muhindi, and some viazi. For our own
consumption we had laid in a stock of muhindi cobs, maragua
beans, and some butter. The butter was snow-white, but, being
made from curdled milk, was very acid and unpalatable.
The natives always drink their milk sour; they do not understand
our preference for fresh milk. Another thing that tends to make their
milk unpopular with European travellers is the dirty state of the
vessels it is kept in. They are made from gourds which have had the
inside cleaned out by the simple process of burning it out with hot
ashes, which gives the milk a nasty charred flavour. The finished
milk vessel is called a “kibuyu.” I have been told that they stir the
freshly drawn milk with a charred stick from the fire, to preserve it,
but I never saw it done. The Masai especially are very bad offenders
in this respect. The old women who milk the cows invariably wash
out the empty vessels with another fluid from the same animal,
certainly never intended by nature for that purpose. If the milk is
intended for sale to the “wasungu” (white men), it is more often than
not adulterated in the same nauseous manner.
We lunched on some of the guinea-fowl I had shot in the forenoon.
Ramathani somehow boiled them tender. Afterwards we held a
“shaurie” (council), at which old Manga and many of his elders
attended. We wanted all the information we could obtain about our
road northward, the districts we should have to pass through, and
the position of the various streams and camping-places.
We were smoking Egyptian cigarettes, a box of which we
numbered among our most precious possessions, and it was rather
a nuisance to have to pass a freshly lighted cigarette round the circle
of natives squatted in front of El Hakim’s tent for each to take a whiff.
They could not properly appreciate them, and it seemed to me very
much like casting pearls before swine. In addition, when the cigarette
was returned, the end was chewed about, and a good smoke
thereby spoiled. If we lit another, the same process was repeated.
The native gentlemen called it etiquette. I considered it downright
sinful waste, an opinion in which El Hakim evidently concurred, as,
after we had had several cigarettes spoiled in this provoking manner,
he turned to me and said, “Get out your box of ‘stinkers,’ Hardwick,
and let’s try the old gentlemen with those.”
I thought it was a splendid idea, so I brought out two of them, and,
lighting one myself, handed the other to old Manga. He glanced at it
suspiciously, turning it over and over in his grimy paws. He had
apparently never seen a cigar before, but seeing me smoking a
similar specimen, he at last ventured to light it. It seemed to grate on
him a little, but he said nothing, and puffed stolidly away for a
moment or two, though I could see his powers of self-control were
being exerted to the utmost. After a game struggle the cigar scored a
distinct success, and Manga, deliberately passing it on to the elder
on his right, rose slowly, and, stalking with great dignity out of camp,
disappeared behind a clump of bushes.
The old man to whom he handed it gazed wonderingly after him
for a moment, then, placing the fatal weed between his aged lips, he
took a long pull and inhaled the smoke. A startled look appeared in
his dim old eyes, and he threw a quick glance in my direction; but I
was calmly puffing away at mine, so he said nothing either, and took
another whiff. In a few short moments he in his turn was vanquished,
and, handing the cigar to his next neighbour, retired with great
dignity to the clump of bushes, where he and old Manga offered up
sacrifices to the goddess Nicotina with an unanimity that was as
surprising as it was novel.
It was only with the very greatest difficulty that we managed to
control our risible faculties. We were inwardly convulsed with
laughter at the facial expressions of the old gentlemen before and
after tasting the fearsome weed. The looks of delighted, though
timorous, anticipation, the startled realization, and the agonized
retrospection, which in turn were portrayed on the usually blank and
uninteresting countenances of Manga’s Ministers of State, was a
study in expression that was simply killing. One by one they tasted it;
one by one they retired to the friendly clump of bushes that
concealed their exaltation from prying eyes; and one by one they
returned red-eyed and shaky, and resumed their places, inwardly
quaking, though outwardly unmoved.
We also had to get up and go away, but not for the same purpose.
If we had not gone away and laughed, we should have had a fit or
burst a blood-vessel. It was altogether too rich. We returned red-
eyed and weary also, and I believe that the old gentlemen thought
that we had been up to the same performance as themselves,
though they could not understand how I resumed my cigar on my
reappearance, and continued smoking with unruffled serenity. I
made a point of finishing my smoke to the last half-inch, and all
through the “shaurie” that succeeded I became aware that I was the
recipient of covert glances of admiration, not unmixed with envy,
from the various members of that little band of heroic sufferers in the
cause of etiquette.
When the “shaurie” was at length resumed, we gained a lot of
interesting information. We found that the people who had attacked
Finlay and Gibbons were the Wa’M’bu, who live two days’ journey to
the north of Maranga, on the south-east slopes of Mount Kenia. They
had a very bad reputation. The Maranga people spoke of them with
bated breath, and remarked that they were “bad, very bad,” and that
if we went through their country we should certainly be killed.
Jamah Mahomet’s safari, numbering nearly 100 guns, had refused
to go through M’bu, and had turned off to the west from Maranga, to
go round the west side of Mount Kenia and thence northward to
Limeru, as the district north-east of Kenia is called by the Swahilis.
There are many different peoples between Maranga and M’thara,
the most northerly inhabited country, though they are all A’kikuyu in
blood. Beyond M’thara the desert stretches away to southern
Somaliland and Abyssinia, with Lake Rudolph in the foreground
about twelve days’ march north-west of M’thara.
The Maranga elders entreated us very urgently to go round west
of Kenia by the same route as Jamah Mahomet and Co., but we did
not see things in the same light at all. We were three white men with
twenty-five guns; and, as El Hakim observed, we were “not to be
turned from our path and our plans disarranged by a pack of howling
savages, however bad a reputation they might have”—a decision we
conveyed to our Maranga friends forthwith. They heard it with much
raising of hands and rolling of eyes, and clearly regarded us as
persons of unsound mind, who really ought to be kept in
confinement; but still, they said, if we were determined to court a
premature end in M’bu, why, they would do all in their power to help
us—an ambiguity we indulgently excused in consideration of the
evident sincerity of their wish to advise us for our good.
We were informed that all the people northward were “kali sana”
(very fierce), and we should do well to use the utmost precaution in
passing through the various districts—a piece of advice we did not
intend to disregard. To go round the other way meant quite a
fortnight more on the road to M’thara, in addition to which El Hakim
was very anxious to see Mount Kenia from the east side, as, indeed,
were we all, as no white men that we knew of had been round that
way before. Perhaps the fact that the Somalis funked the M’bu route
had something to do with our decision also.
We gathered what information we could of the topography of M’bu
and the adjacent countries, which afterwards proved exceedingly
useful. We packed up our goods and chattels, and made our
preparations for a start on the morrow. One of our men, Hamisi, had
a severe attack of dysentery, and we made arrangements with the
old Manga to leave him behind with enough cloth for his keep for
some months. Manga’s son Koranja and some of the old men
signified their intention of accompanying us part of the way. It
appeared that for two days’ journey we should be among friendly
tribes. After that, the Wa’M’bu!
We started the following morning as soon as Koranja appeared.
The country was extraordinarily rich and fertile. The soil is bright red,
and produces, in conjunction with the constant moisture, a practically
unlimited food-supply. The ground was very hilly and well watered—
too well watered for our comfort. There were no large trees, but the
undergrowth was very rank and dense. We saw large quantities of
the castor-oil plant (Ricinus communis) growing wild. The natives
press the dark-coloured oil from the seeds and smear their bodies
with it.
Several times on that morning’s march we saw Koranja, who was
leading, dart hurriedly to one side, and, leaving the path, plunge into
the undergrowth, making a devious détour round something,
followed, of course, by the safari. We asked the reason of his
strange conduct, and the answer more than satisfied us. It was the
single word “ndui” (small-pox). We passed quite half a dozen villages
which were entirely depopulated by the scourge. Now and again we
saw a solitary emaciated figure, covered with small-pox pustules,
crouching on the side of the path, watching us with an uninterested
and vacant stare. On a shout from Koranja and a threatening motion
of his spear, it would slink mournfully away into the deeper recesses
of the jungle.
We reached a small clearing about midday, and camped. We were
unable to build a boma round the camp, owing to the absence of
thorn trees, or any reliable substitute; so that we were in a measure
defenceless against a sudden attack. Large numbers of armed
natives soon put in appearance, and swaggered in and out with
great freedom, and even insolence. We cleared them out politely, but
firmly, and they then congregated outside and discussed us. They
talked peacefully enough, but it was more like the peaceful singing of
a kettle before it boils over. We ate our lunch, and retired to our
tents. George and I went to our own tent, and, taking off our boots,
laid down on our blankets for a quiet smoke. Our men seemed very
much upset by the stories they had heard in Maranga concerning the
warlike qualities of the Wa’M’bu, and their condition could only be
described as “jumpy.” To put it plainly, they were in a pitiable state of
fright, and needed careful handling, if we were to avoid trouble with
the natives through their indiscretion; as trouble would come quite
soon enough of its own accord without that.
 GROUP OF A’KIKUYU.

To resume, George and I had lain down, perhaps, half an hour,

and were quite comfortable and half asleep, when a terrific
altercation caused us to jump up and rush outside. We were just in
time to assist El Hakim in forcibly disarming our men. Some of them
were placing cartridges in the breeches of their rifles; a few yards
away a vast crowd of natives were frantically brandishing their
spears and clubs and yelling like demons. If a shot had been fired,
we should have been in rather a tight place, for, as I have said, the
camp was quite open, and practically defenceless. If the A’kikuyu
had rushed us, then the chances are that another fatality would have
been added to Africa’s already long list. As it was, by much shouting
and punching, we induced our excited and frightened men to put
down their weapons in time, and so regained control over them.
Koranja, shaking visibly, went up to the Kikuyu chief and smoothed
matters down, after which mutual explanations ensued. It appeared
that an M’kikuyu warrior had indulged too freely in “tembo” (native
beer), and had run amuck through our camp. Our men, in their
already fidgety state, jumped to the conclusion that they were being
attacked, seized their rifles, and were about to use them, when our
timely appearance on the scene prevented a very pretty butchery.
The natives professed to be very sorry for what had occurred, and,
seizing their drunken companion, hurried him away, and peace, if not
harmony, was restored.
We did not trust them, however, as they seemed very sullen over
the whole business. Koranja was also very nervous, and showed it,
which did not tend to reassure our men. We ate our dinner at dusk,
to the accompaniment of howling and shouting from A’kikuyu
concealed in the surrounding bush. We doubled the guard at
sundown, just before we went to dinner, giving them the most
precise instructions in the event of an alarm. At the conclusion of the
meal we were startled by a volley from the sentries. The whole camp
was immediately alarmed, and symptoms of a panic manifested
themselves. We restored order with a little difficulty, and, on
investigation, found that the sentries had fired on some natives
skulking round in undue proximity to the camp.
We now made every preparation for attack, and made
arrangements for one or the other of us to be on guard all night. I
took the first watch from 8 p.m. to 10 p.m., and El Hakim the second
from 10 p.m. to 12 a.m.; but everything remained quiet, and El
Hakim did not think it necessary to call George at midnight, the rest
of the night proving uneventful, with the exception that our fox-terrier
gave birth to six puppies, of which she seemed very proud.
At daylight we struck camp, and were away before the sun was
fairly up. The country was much the same as on the day before,
though, if anything, the jungle was more dense. The shambas were
filled to overflowing with unripe muhindi and pumpkins, while sweet
potatoes and beans were growing in great profusion on every side.
Travelling in the early morning was decidedly unpleasant, as the dew
collected on the shrubbery was shaken down upon us in showers,
wetting us through to the skin. We crossed two or three small rivers,
and at midday reached and camped at a place called Materu.
 The chief soon put in an appearance, and we purchased a further
supply of food, in the shape of potatoes, beans, muhindi, and a little
honey. We also obtained further information of the road through the
notorious M’bu country which, I must confess, did not seem to have
any better reputation the nearer we approached it.
Our Maranga friends, under Koranja, appeared very frightened at
their close proximity to the dreaded Wa’M’bu, and intimated their
intention of returning to Maranga. We answered that they might go
when we gave them permission, but for the present we required their
services; with which answer they had perforce to be content.
The next morning we again travelled through much the same
densely populated and cultivated country as that hitherto passed,
though it seemed to get more mountainous. We had not as yet got a
view of Mount Kenia, as the sky had been for days covered with a
thick curtain of grey clouds. Koranja informed us that two hours after
starting we should reach a river called “Shelangow,” which was the
boundary of M’bu. We said the sooner the better.
At midday, after some hours’ steady march, we appeared to be as
far from the “Shelangow” as ever, though we had been informed that
it was “huko mbeli kidogo” (only just in front) for over three hours. As
the men were very tired, El Hakim decided to camp, in spite of
Koranja’s energetic protests that the Shelangow was “karibu
kabissa” (very near). The country was very wet with the constant
drizzle and mist, which made the steep clayey paths exceedingly
slippery, while between the shambas the way led through thickets of
brambles and stinging nettles, which caused the porters endless
discomfort. On halting, we built a boma of shrubs; not that we
thought it would be of any use in case of an attack, but to give the
men confidence. We wrote letters and gave them to Koranja, on the
remote chance that they would get down to Nairobi, and thence to
England. (They did get down four months later, and were delivered in
England five months after they were written.)
In the evening Koranja and his friends then bade us an
affectionate and relieved farewell. They remarked in parenthesis that
they would never see us again, as the Wa’M’bu would certainly kill
us all; a belief that probably explained why they helped themselves
to all our small private stock of sweet potatoes before they left; a
moral lapse that—luckily for them—we did not discover till next
morning. Our men sent a deputation to us during the evening,
pointing out the perils of the passage through M’bu, and saying that
we should of a certainty be killed, and most likely eaten. This
statement we received with polite incredulity, and dismissed the
deputation with a warning not to do it again.
Next morning I was very queer, a large lump having formed in my
groin. This is a very common complaint in East Africa and Uganda,
supposedly due to over-fatigue and walking, though I think climate
and diet have something to do with it. George had two very bad ones
on his way down from Uganda. It was my second experience of
them, and the oftener I suffered from them, the less I liked them, as
they are exceedingly painful. The only cure seems to be complete
rest, and hot fomentations applied to the swelling.
We did not travel that day in consequence, but occupied ourselves
in buying a little food and getting what further information we could
about the road ahead. There were not many natives or villages about
—a fact easily explained by the contiguity of the M’bu border. The
place where we were camped was a sort of neutral territory, or “no
man’s land.”
Next day, soon after daylight, we set out for the Shelangow, which
was reached after a couple of hours’ march over very steep country.
It proved to be merely a mountain torrent, which we easily crossed.
On the other side rose a very steep hill, to the top of which we
climbed, and found ourselves at last in the country of the dreaded
Wa’M’bu.
 CHAPTER IV.
FROM M’BU, ACROSS EAST KENIA, TO ZURA.

First sight of Kenia—Hostile demonstrations by the M’bu people—We

impress two guides—Passage through M’bu—Demonstrations in
force by the inhabitants—Farewell to M’bu—The guides desert—
Arrival in Zuka—Friendly reception by the Wa’zuka—Passage
through Zuka—Muimbe—Igani—Moravi—Arrival at Zura—
Welcome by Dirito, the chief of Zura.
In order that there should be no misunderstanding on the part of the
Wa’M’bu as to our calibre, El Hakim determined to pursue an
aggressive policy, without, however, committing any overt act. We
accordingly pitched our camp in the middle of one of their shambas,
and helped ourselves freely to anything we fancied in the way of
muhindi, etc. Their natural line of reasoning would be that a safari
which had the effrontery to act in that way must be very powerful,
and should therefore be approached with caution.
The result entirely justified our action; which was only what we
expected, as with bullying natives, might is always right.
No natives came into our camp—a bad sign, though we saw many
skulking round in the bush. They seemed very morose and sulky, but
so far showed no signs of active hostility. We put on a double guard
for the night, and went to sleep in our clothes; but we were not
disturbed.
We did not travel the following morning, as we were without
guides; and as no natives came into camp we resolved to capture
one on the first available opportunity. At sunrise we got our first
glimpse of Mount Kenia, and a wonderful view it was. Kenia is called
“Kilimaro” by the Swahilis, and “Donyo Ebor” (Black Mountain) and
“Donyo Egere” (Spotted Mountain) by the Masai; so called because
of the large black patches on the main peak, where the sides are too
precipitous for the snow to lodge.
 Thompson[2] describes his first impressions of Kenia thus:—
“As pious Moslems watch with strained eyes the appearance of
the new moon or the setting of the sun, to begin their orisons, so we
now waited for the uplifting of the fleecy veil, to render due homage
to the heaven-piercing Kenia. The sun set in the western heavens,
and sorrowfully we were about to turn away, when suddenly there
was a break in the clouds far up in the sky, and the next moment a
dazzling white pinnacle caught the last rays of the sun, and shone
with a beauty, marvellous, spirit-like, and divine; cut off, as it
apparently was, by immeasurable distance from all connection with
the gross earth. The sun’s rays went off, and then, with a softness
like the atmosphere of dreams, which befitted the gloaming, that
white peak remained as though some fair spirit with subdued and
chastened expression lingered at her evening devotions. Presently,
as the garish light of day melted into the soft hues and mild
effulgence of a moon-lit night, the ‘heaven-kissing’ mountain became
gradually disrobed; and then in its severe outlines and chaste beauty
it stood forth from top to bottom, entrancing, awe-inspiring—meet
reward for days of maddening worry and nights of sleepless anxiety.
At that moment I could almost feel that Kenia was to me what the
sacred stone of Mecca is to the Faithful, who have wandered from
distant lands, surmounting perils and hardships, that they might but
kiss or see the hallowed object, and then, if it were God’s will, die.”
While I am unable to rise to the dizzy heights of rhetorical
description, or revel in the boundless fields of metaphor so
successfully exploited by Mr. Thompson, I fully endorse his remarks.
The first sight of Kenia does produce a remarkable impression on
the traveller; an impression which does not—one is surprised to find
—wear off with time. Kenia, like a clever woman, is chary of
exhibiting her manifold charms too often to the vulgar gaze. One can
live at the base of the mountain for weeks, or even months, and
never get a glimpse of its magnificent peak.
We, however, could not stop to romance, as the enemy were even
now clamouring without our gates; and we were reluctantly
compelled to turn our wandering attention to a more serious
business. It appeared quite within the bounds of possibility that we
should “die” without even “kissing” the “hallowed object” so ably
eulogized by Mr. Thompson; as the irreverent Wa’M’bu were making
hostile demonstrations in the thick bush surrounding our camp,
regardless of our æsthetic yearnings. They were apparently trying
our temper by means of a demonstration in force, and such awful
howlings as they made I never previously heard.
Our men became very nervous, and fidgeted constantly with their
guns, looking with strained gaze into the bush without the camp. El
Hakim was, as usual, quite undisturbed, and George and I
succeeded in keeping up an appearance of impassive calm, and
condescended even to make jokes about the noise, an attitude
which went a long way towards reassuring our men, who watched us
constantly. Any sign of nervousness or anxiety on our part would
have been fatal, as the men would have instantly scattered and run
for the border, with a result easily foreseen.
The morning passed in this manner, the Wa’M’bu continuing their
howling, while we went through our ordinary camp routine with as
much nonchalance as we could command.
We had lately lived largely upon vegetables, and now determined
to give ourselves a treat, so we cooked our only ham, and made an
excellent lunch on ham and boiled muhindi cobs. During the meal
the war-cries of the Wa’M’bu increased in volume, and our men were
plainly very much disturbed. They kept looking in our direction as if
for orders; while we appeared as if utterly unaware that anything
untoward was happening.
Presently Jumbi came up with his rifle at the shoulder, and
saluting, stood a yard or so away from the table. El Hakim was busily
eating, and studiously ignored him for a moment or two. Presently he
looked up.
“Yes?” he said inquiringly.
Jumbi saluted again. “The ‘Washenzi,’ Bwana!” said he.
“Well?” interrogated El Hakim again.
“They are coming to attack us, Bwana, on this side and on that
side,” said Jumbi, indicating with a sweep of his arm the front and
rear of the camp.
“All right,” said El Hakim, “I will see about it after lunch; I am eating
now. You can go.”
And Jumbi, saluting once more, went off to where the men were
nervously waiting. His account of the interview, we could see,
reassured them greatly. They concluded the “Wasungu” must have
something good up their sleeve to be able to take matters so calmly.
At the conclusion of the meal we instructed our men to shout to
the enemy and ask them as insolently as possible if they wanted to
fight. There was a sudden silence on the part of the Wa’M’bu when
they realized the purport of the words; but in a little time a single
voice answered, “Kutire kimandaga” (We do not want to fight). We
then invited their chief to come into camp, an invitation he seemed
very slow to accept, but after long hesitation he mustered up
sufficient courage, and walked slowly into camp, accompanied by
one other old man.
He was a fine-looking, grey-haired old chap, and carried himself
with great dignity. Negotiations were opened with a few strings of
beads, which after a moment’s indecision he accepted. We then
talked to him gently, but firmly, and asked the reason of the
unseemly noise outside.
“Do you want to fight?” we asked aggressively.
He replied that the old men did not want to fight, but the young
men did.
“Very well,” we said, still more aggressively, “go away and tell the
young men to come on and fight us at once, and let us get it over.”
He then added that the young men did not want to fight either.
This was our opportunity, and, seizing it, we talked very severely
to him, intimating that we were much annoyed at the noise that had
been made. We did not consider it at all friendly, we said, and if there
were any more of it, we should not wait for the young men to come
to us, we should go to them and put a stop to their howling.